She's dying and it matters
by SteferineQueen
Summary: For some reason, that he cant explain , Katherine's impending death matters to Stefan, and not just because it means he'll finally be free of her. He's scared that she's dying, he's sorry she's dying. He doesn't want her to die. (Stefan POV drabble centered around S05E11, Steferine scene at the end. Stefan thinks about his feelings for Katherine, I suck at summaries. R&R please)


She's dying, and it matters. It shouldn't matter, not after everything she'd done to him. It shouldn't scare him the way it did, but it did scare him. The crows feet around her eyes, her hair greying and dropping out in clumps (he'd found his bed peppered with strands of white hair this morning once she'd gone) teeth falling out, joints hurting, eyes on the blink, her hearing getting worse and worse – it _terrified_ him if truth be told.

And even if it did matter to him, he shouldn't be feeling sad about it, hell, he suspected when she died there'd be a party, with Damon and Elena and, well, _everyone_ celebrating the fact she was no longer walking the earth, and he'd be expected to join a toast no doubt.

She was in his room, yet he'd still asked to come in, just in case she didn't want him to see her scrutinising herself in the mirror. He cracks a joke about the wrinkles she points out (she didn't need to, he'd noticed) – she replies that he's not funny. He didn't think it was either. She says she wants to talk about last night, he responds with an "okay" and she insists he goes first. He laughs at that internally, she wants to talk but she daren't go first in case she says something that he doesn't reciprocate.

He remembers last night. "It was a long day, we had a moment – " (it'd been more than just a moment, so much more than that. It'd been an epiphany for him.)"and we got swept up in it."

She makes a quip about him remembering it from a textbook. Even he had to admit that it sounded forced...rehearsed. "Katherine what do you expect?" he asks "You want me to just forget everything you've put me through for the last 147 years?"

She points out she's dying. He's about to tell her she's Katherine Pierce, she should suck it up. But he settles for a simple placating; "I know you are, and I'm sure you'll figure a way out of it."

Her breath hitches a little and her voice goes a little quieter. She removes her hat and spreads out her greying hair, telling him that it's all 'for real this time'. She tells him to look at her. He does. (He still sees an angel, even after those 147 years.) Once again she points out she's dying,(He wishes she'd stop doing that) she jokes about redemption. He knows she wants it.

He tells her that; "147 years is a long time to forgive in one night." And it has been a long time, a _long, long_ time for him. Pain, no control, endless _pain_ and addiction and fear and loneliness, self loathing and despair.

She asks him a question – about Elena, about the way he looks at Elena. All he can feel is Katherine's warm hands on his neck (tenderly touching him, not trying to snap it – as if she were capable of that anymore) and the look on her face that say's she already knows the answer. (He suspects the question was rhetorical) He says nothing, he doesn't know what to say really, Elena confuses him, he loves her, but she confuses him. Katherine nods with a nonchalant smile and removes her tiny hands from his neck. "Goodbye Stefan," she whispers and walks past him. No – walks away from him.

He can't just let her go, he can't. Something in him makes him reach out and gently grab her arm, "Hey," he calls, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry, that you're dying." He was telling the truth, he was being honest. His eyes stung, and he slid his hand down her arm and stopped when he reached her delicate hand, grasping it in his own and feeling his heart beat a little faster when she tangled her fingers with his and squeezed his hand back.

"Trust me... I am too." She replies after a few moments hesitation, and he could hear her trying not to let her tears fall. Their hands lingered in the current position for a few more seconds before she lets go and she walks away.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hold her, wrap his arms around her, hold her tight and stop her from going, (she'd ask him why, he'd tell her that there were no rules) tell her that it was all going to be alright, that he would fix it – and a huge part of him didn't want to acknowledge why he wanted to do that. A huge part of him didn't want to admit that she could still make him feel like that.

He'd spoke of killing her, _dreamed_ of it if he was being honest, he'd dreamt up different ways of doing it (stake through the heart, ripping her heart out, desiccating her slowly, even once or twice he imagined her head flying across the room,) _and_ heard the different last words he'd speak to her in each scenario ("I love you Katherine", "I hate you Katherine", "I'm sorry Katherine, I really am" and "Why?! Why me?!").

He'd had the opportunity to do it a few times too, like the time he'd tied her up and questioned her on werewolves – though he suspected that had he pulled a stake out and tried to use it on her she would have run like hell. (She was good at that, running, but then again, so was he.) He could've done it when Bonnie had her subdued – there was a stake at hand and she was vulnerable and he could practically see his target (the heart he'd speculated over, did it exist, did it not? Turns out it did) beating in his chest. Hell even now, she was a fragile, vulnerable human, he could have it over and done with as quickly as he'd like... and he'd had her put on suicide watch so she couldn't kill herself.

But there was something about her, and he couldn't do it. After all this time, after everything, he couldn't kill her. He suspected he'd never be able to, (he'd even saved her from killing herself)and now time was going to do it for him.

He remembered the night before, how it felt to kiss her again, how it felt to have sex with her again. He'd felt her touch this morning before she'd jerked away, and he'd been ready to repeat last night's antics with a smile.

She was familiar, she was integrated into his life and she always would be, and he'd gotten to the stage in his anger at her where he could recount happier memories of her with a smile - The day they'd met, escorting her to parties and balls, especially the founders ball, him chasing her, her chasing him through the yard. Their illicit midnight meetings, where he'd steal a kiss, or two, once even three. The good times had mostly been before the compulsion, of course.

Katherine confused him as much as Elena did sometimes. The morning she'd first compelled him after she'd bit him. He knew he'd never have gone to his father to tell, even if she hadn't compelled him. He'd have gone to Damon, to warn him... and from there he doesn't know. He might've learned to love her like his brother had (had Damon set him straight on the matter, that is) but the worst thing was that he didn't know, because she took that from him.

And yet he still found himself, even now, after everything, wanting to hold her, feel her skin, her hair, her gaze on him. The morning he'd woken up with her, it seemed like centuries ago now. She'd implanted memories of him and her dancing and nightmares of Damon and Elena dating (who knew Katherine'd be a prophet, mm?) and even after that, for a few brief seconds after waking he knew it was her and he kept a hold, hoping he could pretend that they were back in his bedroom at the mansion, and she'd only have to leave to get her bodice laced up and her hair curled, then they'd spend the day playing croquet with his father.

Except he couldn't, because she was, well, Katherine and his love for her was overshadowed by hate.

Stefan sighed at his inner turmoil, his feelings battling with her actions. His head verses his heart. He was confused, so confused. But he knew one thing.

She's dying and it matters...


End file.
